This Girl Isn't Shy, She's Spectacular

by Nina Beck

  “It’s nice being back, Andy.”

  “Andrew.”

  “Andrew,” she said, nodding and tapping her forehead. “I’ll try and remember you’re not some little kid anymore.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” he said. “Good night.”

  He closed the door behind him and Sam saw the light under the door go out before she began changing. Andrew told her that they still checked on him before going to bed themselves, so that’s what Sam was waiting for. When she heard the footsteps slow as they passed her door, and saw the light flood through the crack as they peeked in at her, Samantha thought serene thoughts and tried her best to relax her face and breathe steadily. Hopefully they wouldn’t hear her heart pounding.

  After what felt like a million years, they closed the door behind them and Sam could hear her parents amble down to their bedroom, content that both their children were safely tucked into bed. Samantha kicked off the covers. She didn’t bother with the shoes, as per her brother’s advice, and instead hooked her fingers into the heels and grabbed her bag, slowly moving her way out of the room and down the hall—being careful not to step in the center of the path, which was more likely “to squeak like hell and get your ass caught.”

  Once she had the front door of the apartment closed behind her, she took a deep, steadying breath and then bent over to put her shoes on.

  Samantha’s heart didn’t stop racing until she got out of the cab in front of the club, where Riley was waiting for her, wearing something similar to what Sam was wearing: jeans, top, and heels.

  “You made it!”

  “Of course I did,” Samantha said. “Piece of cake.” But she still looked nervously over her shoulder, terrified that her parents or someone they knew would spot her and the jig would be up.

  “Want to go inside?”

  “Absolutely, let’s go.” Samantha smiled at the guy who stood by the front door, for a second alarmed that she might not be able to get in, but he gave Riley a friendly smile and herself a nod—and for a second, Samantha felt flooded with the coolness of what her life had become. Dangerous, but definitely cool.

  D TRIES TO STAY IN ALL NIGHT

  D couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t even eleven and it simply felt unnatural to be lying in bed when he could be out. Now, D realized that he had said he was going to get some rest before school started the next day, but how much rest did one really need? Wouldn’t it be worse to oversleep, which would throw off his entire sleep pattern, and he would feel completely ill in the morning?

  No, no, instead he should definitely get up and perhaps go for a little stroll until he actually felt tired, and he could still be home before midnight…

  And a stroll could mean anything; maybe he should text Riley and see if she wanted to—

  No, no, it was only going to be a very short stroll and he didn’t want to bother her for no reason. By the time he found her, he’d probably be back in bed, sleeping like a baby. Better just to go out and come back when he was ready, without bothering his best friend. Plus, he could control himself for the evening: no parties, no alcohol, no girls.

  How hard could it be?

  D pulled on some clothing, grabbed his wallet with his credit cards and fake ID, and headed out the front door, slamming it shut behind him.

  #3 DO SOMETHING THAT IS DEFINITELY A BAD IDEA

  There weren’t nearly as many perfect people as Samantha thought there would be. Hollywood had done her ill. When she pictured the inside of an NYC club, she pictured perfect bodies, clad perfectly in leather or that other weird leathery latex material, all dancing perfectly (if sluttishly) with really, really hot men. In general, Sam thought she was going to walk into a music video, but instead the real club was a much weirder mix. Most of the people there were closer to her own age, so they had to get their hands stamped at the door (hers had a big NO stamped on it), and they milled around the edges, elbowing and jostling one another while a relatively small group danced in the middle in front of a band.

  Sam had expected a DJ.

  The band was pretty cool; there was a girl jumping and screaming into the mic and a really cute guitarist. Riley elbowed her lightly when she caught Sam staring. Sam blushed and turned away.

  “Look, do not pick up any guys here.”

  “What?”

  “Do not pick up any guys here, just enjoy yourself!” Riley yelled over the music as the band started a new set. “I need to use the powder room. Will you be OK here by yourself, or do you want to…”

  “No, no, I’m fine,” Samantha said, blushing again. She really needed to learn to control her blushing—she couldn’t even talk about the bathroom without turning a serious shade of pink.

  “OK, be right back!” Riley said, then blew a kiss as she walked toward the far corner of the space.

  Samantha looked around: the inside of the club…bar…venue? The inside of the venue was painted black. Everything was black, except the mirror behind the bar on the far right-hand side and the lights on the stage, which were pink and blue and sometimes pulsed with the beat of the drums. It made Sam’s pulse race just to watch it. She was so happy she was here.

  Except she was standing in the middle of the room all by herself.

  In an attempt to occupy herself, Sam decided she needed a soda.

  She headed toward the bar, which took much longer than one would expect to cross a simple room, but there were more people going in the opposite direction. When Sam finally made it, she sighed deeply and bent over to call the bartender, only to realize that she was stuck to the bar.

  “Oh, gross,” she said, peeling herself off.

  “Yes, you’ve got to watch that,” said a low voice with a beautiful British accent.

  “Yes,” Sam said, feeling her cheeks heat up. She looked to her right and the beautiful British accent was matched by a beautiful boy. Samantha flushed again, wondering if it was OK to call a boy beautiful—but if it were in only specific cases, this would be one of them. He was taller than she was, by a few inches at least. He had dark hair that stood out against his pale skin and the most beautiful blue eyes. He was…beautiful. She smiled shyly and turned her attention back toward the bartender, who seemed to be having a full-fledged conversation at the other end of the bar and was ignoring everyone else.

  “If you’re trying to get her attention, I hope you have some time to wait,” the boy said, picking up a short glass that was half filled with ice and amber liquid. He did not have a stamp on his hand. Sam wondered how old he was—he certainly didn’t look twenty-one, but what did she know?

  “Um, do you think I should come back?” Sam asked, her eyes darting between the boy and the bartender.

  “Nah, she’ll come around eventually,” he said, smiling. “Plus, I like the company of beautiful girls.”

  Samantha wished she were one of those girls who could respond right away, but her immediate reaction was to wonder if he was flirting with her or making fun of her. She decided to take a deep breath and assume it was the former.

  “Do you think she’d look over if I reached over the edge and just grabbed the spigot?” Sam asked, pointing toward the soda spigot on the other side of the bar.

  “Probably. Do you want to try? I can keep a lookout for you.”

  Sam giggled. And then stopped. And then giggled again. Because she just realized, she was flirting with this boy, and this beautiful boy was flirting with her, or at least offering to help her do something awfully bad.

  “In fact, why don’t you just climb over and pour us both a little something,” he said, finishing his drink. “I doubt she’d even notice.”

  Sam laughed and felt adrenaline pulsing through her veins, and suddenly she wanted to. She wanted to hop over the bar and do exactly what the beautiful British boy suggested even though she was sure he meant it all as a joke.

  Instead she stood up and walked away—noting his slightly surprised expression—and with a quick glance at him, where he sat with his eyebrows raised, stepped behind the
bar.

  For a moment she stood there, glancing down at the bartender, who was still completely involved in whatever interesting conversation she was having with a really hot guy. Sam wiped her sweaty palms on her pants and then tucked her hair behind her ears.

  “What can I get you?” she asked, approaching the boy from behind the bar.

  He laughed, deep and long, and when he was done, his eyes were twinkling and he smiled at her like he had never seen someone like her before and it made Sam want to spend all night across from him, smiling back.

  “A Jack and Coke,” he said.

  Definitely older, Sam thought, feeling slightly disappointed. A little too old for her, even in her current risqué state of mind, but he wasn’t too old to flirt with, right? Just too old to…well, probably too old to ask for his number. He probably had all kinds of girls his own age asking for his number; he’d never give it to her. She was quiet, and just “OK” looking, and…

  He looked at her expectantly.

  “Oh, the drink,” she said. “Um, what’s Jack?”

  He smiled and stood up in his seat, leaning over the bar pointing toward a tall bottle with a spout shoved into the neck. It had the words JACK DANIELS written on a black label across the front. Of course.

  Behind the bar there had to be hundreds of bottles with liquids at varying levels. And glasses. And practically no light by which to see anything. This was definitely not a safe working environment.

  Sam picked up the first glass she saw that looked to be of an average size and…

  “Just put ice in and pour at the same time you pour the soda.”

  Sam nodded and picked up the bottle, remembering all the movies she’d seen that had scenes that took place in bars. The bartender always spun the bottle around before pouring; Sam wondered if that was to mix the contents and tried to spin the bottle in her hand, but dropped it (and caught it before it hit the floor) and blushed instead.

  She couldn’t even look up; she was sure the boy (or would he be a man at twenty-one?)—the guy was certainly going to be amused, if not laughing outright.

  She poured the drink, only sloshing a little over the edge as she placed it on the counter.

  “Oh, wait,” she said, picking it up again and placing a little cocktail napkin underneath it.

  “Perfection,” he said, taking a sip and coughing a little. “A bit strong, but otherwise perfect. I’m impressed.”

  Sam knew if she blushed one more time she’d never be able to cool off to a normal body temperature again.

  “Excuse me?” an irritated voice called from a few seats down at the bar. A man was holding a folded twenty out to her.

  “Um?” she said, looking at the man, who obviously wanted service, and then back at the guy, who had begun laughing again.

  “Can I get some service?” he said loudly, and for a second Sam worried that the other bartender (cough, the only bartender) would turn around and spot her. She shouldn’t have worried.

  “Um?” Sam said, unable to form a coherent sentence.

  “I want two lemon drops, a Heinie, and a Bass.”

  He wanted a heinie?

  Sam repeated the order back to him, while he looked at her like she was an idiot, and said, “Sorry, it’s my first night.”

  The other patron’s face softened a little and he said, “Threw you into the deep end, did they?”

  Sam nodded.

  “And you’re not getting much help,” he said with a nod toward the other bartender, who was leaning over the top of the bar, clearly not worried about sticking to it, as much as she was worried about…

  Sam nodded again.

  “Two beers, this one and this one,” the patron said, pointing toward two beers on tap. And then he walked Sam through how to make the shots (which were surprisingly complicated); he even left her a generous tip as he took the drinks away, but not knowing how much the drinks actually cost (and not actually working there), Sam left it in a small pile behind the counter, tucked behind the pint glasses.

  Before she had a chance to think, before she got more than a glance back toward the guy with the fabulous British accent, who was still watching her and smiling, two more drink orders were thrown at her. Thankfully these just necessitated her handing over bottles, and then before anyone else could ask for a drink, she threw up her hands and said she was on a break—and walked back toward the boy.

  “That was amazing,” he said. “You’re amazing.”

  “I mean, how hard is it to pour a drink?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Amazing.”

  “Actually, I was wondering…” he said, but caught Sam staring over his shoulder at Riley, who was looking around the club for Sam, and looked around too. Sam froze. So did the boy on the other side of the bar. “Bloody hell.”

  Sam immediately realized that the boy and Riley knew each other. Of course they knew each other! Was there a hot boy within a twenty-mile radius that Riley didn’t know? Oh god, did they know each other?

  “Do you want to get out of here?”

  “What?”

  “Do you want to get out of here?” he repeated, slower this time.

  Sam’s list item consisted of doing something that was a bad idea…but not crazy. She couldn’t (and wouldn’t) leave the club with someone she didn’t know.

  “Um, I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

  He smiled a half smile, a crease appearing in his cheek, and Samantha was struck again by just how beautiful he really was.

  “It’s definitely not a good idea,” he replied, “but my friend is approaching and if she sees me here, she will undoubtedly make my life a living hell, and I’d escape but I don’t want to do so without at least getting your number.”

  “I…”

  “How about we go find someplace to talk for a minute?”

  “What are you doing?” a high, shrill female voice squealed.

  “Oh, shit,” the boy said, looking to his left, while Samantha looked to her right only to see an angry bartender advancing on her. She yipped, jumped, and ran out from behind the bar as the bartender gave chase. The beautiful boy followed at a more acceptable speed.

  Sam ran straight to the girls’ bathroom and hid in a stall, tucking her feet up on the seat. There was a soft knock on the door and then an amused British voice asking, “Can I come in?”

  “Hell,” the boy said as he squeezed himself into the stall with Sam, closing the door behind him. “I haven’t been in one of these in a long time.”

  Sam raised her eyebrows but he just shook off the question.

  “Um…so can I get your number?” he asked.

  “Well,” she hedged. “I think you’re too old for me.”

  He shot her a surprised look before his face broke into a smile again. “I’m seventeen.”

  “You are? But you were…” she said, pointing back toward the bar. Not only did she illegally pour drinks but she illegally poured drinks for a minor. Oh, hell.

  “Fake ID.”

  “You need a fake ID?” Samantha asked.

  “Well, if I want to drink, I do.”

  “Oh,” she said. It made sense and it didn’t. “Do you need to drink?”

  “Need to? No. Want to? Yes.”

  “Oh.” Enter an awkward lull in the conversation.

  “I think I might be losing my touch,” he said.

  “What? Why?”

  “I asked for your number twice and you don’t want to give it to me,” he continued before Sam could argue or agree. “But how about this: I’ll give you mine. And if you want to talk or go out sometime, you can call me. And then I wouldn’t have snuck into the girls’ bathroom for no reason.”

  She opened her mouth and then shut it again. Instead of replying, she took out her phone and punched in the numbers as he rattled them off, but before she hit SEND, he smiled and opened the stall.

  “I hope you’ll call,” he said, over his shoulder. “Good night, then.”

  “Good nig
ht,” she said, balancing on top of the toilet.

  He nodded and shut the stall door. She smiled and looked down at her phone. Outside the stall, she heard the door open and a loud gasp of a woman.

  And then, “I’m sorry, mademoiselle.” And the door close again.

  Samantha laughed and looked down at her phone: The number was there, but she realized she hadn’t asked for his name, so she quickly saved it under “THEBOY.” She flipped her phone closed as Riley walked in.

  “There you are! I was looking for you…”

  Sam smiled and asked if they could go home.

  “Oh god,” Riley said, looking at Sam. Stepping closer and pulling her face closer to hers so she could inspect her eyes. “You’re not drunk.”

  Sam shook her head. Smiled again. Giggled. Twice.

  “You met a boy.”

  Sam smiled bigger. Giggled a bit more.

  Riley rolled her eyes and said, “Come on, let’s go.”

  They walked two blocks, Samantha waiting for it…and then it came:

  “Just don’t say that I didn’t warn you,” Riley said, and after a long pause, “OK, tell me everything.”

  Sam suddenly wondered again about Riley’s connection to the beautiful boy and decided if Riley did know him, she might have all sorts of stuff to say about him. Stuff that would definitely ruin this moment. So Samantha decided to keep him to herself for a little bit longer.

  D DECIDES SOME THINGS ARE JUST BAD IDEAS, AND GOES HOME EARLY

  It was just about midnight, but D left the bathroom—safely avoided bumping into Riley (what are the chances?)—and went straight home. He didn’t even bother with a cab but decided to walk back uptown, all fifty-four blocks (although about three-quarters of the way to his destination, he started swearing at himself and hopped on the subway).

  On his way home, he thought about the girl he met at the bar and he kept smiling.

  He didn’t have her number. He didn’t even know her name, but he knew that she couldn’t make a drink worth a damn and she was interesting and not like the girls he usually met, who were just trying to get drunk so they had an excuse to forget their lives each night. She was also pretty; she had this light smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose that gave her a look of innocence—something he had never found attractive before.